by Wendy Clarke
‘Where is she, Wain?’
Going through to the kitchen, there were signs that her mum had been in there: a plate and knife in the sink and the bread bin standing open. When she placed her hand on the kettle, it was slightly warm. Flicking the switch to make herself some tea, Beth went to the back door and opened it.
The fell that rose steeply behind the house was just a dark shape in the gloom. The terrace of slate cottages had been built up against it, leaving no room for a garden, just a small paved area big enough for the shed that her mother called her workshop. Her dad had put it up the previous year after Beth had complained that her mother’s tools throughout the house gave her no space to do her homework. The silver, wires, cutters and soldering iron that had once taken up most of the table by the window were now spread out on the shed’s workbench.
Expecting to see a light on in the workroom window, Beth was surprised to find it in darkness. Where was her mum?
Part of her was pleased that she wasn’t home. For the last couple of days, as she’d turned the key in the lock, she’d found herself holding her breath. Wondering if anything would be said – if her mum had found out she’d been bunking school. It was, she knew, only a matter of time. She thought of the bag of clothes and walking boots pushed under the hedge at the bottom of the drive. On days when she couldn’t face the thought of the classroom, days when escaping onto the fells was her only way to avoid going mad, she’d change back into her uniform before coming into the house, shoving her boots and jeans into the bag. She’d have to go out and get them before anyone came across them. Soon, the day would come when she’d have to explain herself and, when she did, her mum would make a scene. The thought made her go cold. She hated arguments, had done for as long as she could remember, and if there was ever any danger of one developing, she’d take herself off to her room at the back of the house. Not that her mum and dad argued much. Unless they did it when she was well out of earshot.
Her dad wasn’t home either, but then she hadn’t expected him to be. Sometimes, when he was taking out a group of walkers, he’d stop with them for a drink in the pub afterwards to get some feedback and wouldn’t get back until late. She didn’t blame him. Who’d want to come back to this pokey little place? So what if it was full of history, that slate miners used to live there? The slate miners were welcome to have it back.
Pulling off her maroon blazer, she hung it on one of the pegs in the little lobby by the front door. There was an assortment of coats and jackets already in there, pushing out into the small porch area and, as she bent down to take off her shoes, two of them ended up on the floor. She cursed under her breath. If her mum and dad could afford to send her to a snotty school like Lady Edburton, why couldn’t they afford a place big enough to swing a cat?
As she straightened, she caught sight of the school badge on her blazer. Picking up the fallen coats, she hung them on top of it. Just the sight of the shield with its prancing lion and interlocking L and E made her feel sick.
After making herself some tea, Beth stretched out on the settee. Reaching behind her, she threw one of the many cushions onto the floor, then felt for her school bag. Unzipping it, she pulled out the A4 spiral-bound book that was in there, its pages full of her sketches. Drawing up her legs, she rested the book on them, noticing there was a hole in the knee of her opaque black tights. It must have happened when she was changing out of her jeans. It was her last pair and if any of the girls saw it, she knew what they’d say. Sometimes it was to her face, but other times it was saved for a Facebook or WhatsApp conversation. Her skirt wasn’t the right length, her bag hadn’t come from the right shop, her hair hung loose on her shoulders when everyone else had theirs tied back. Anything and everything. Didn’t they realise that their so-called fashion statements made them all look the same? Just like the Herdwick sheep that grazed the fells behind their house. Her mum didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with looking like everyone else, but Beth couldn’t see the point.
Her mum’s views on conformity didn’t stretch as far as social media. She wasn’t keen on her going on it and, if she was honest, Beth didn’t like it either. She couldn’t help herself though – surely it was better to know what was being said about you. The WhatsApp group had been set up by Carina when she’d joined the school in Year 9, a year when Beth had been happy, when people had still liked her. It hadn’t taken long for things to change.
A while back, Beth had stopped leaving comments on the group and now she was pretty sure everyone had forgotten she was even on there. Or she hoped so, for she couldn’t bear the thought that they knew but said those things anyway. This way she could be like a ghost. There but not there.
The hole in her tights was making her anxious. Maybe she could mend it? Or stick it with some of her mum’s jewellery glue. The thought made her weary. Every day was spent worrying about what they’d think.
Suddenly, it was all too much. Shoving her fingers inside the hole, she pulled them sideways, ripping it wider. Who cared anyway?
‘Beth?’
Her mum’s voice was coming from the top of the stairs. She’d been home all along. Beth shoved the book back into the bag just as her mum came down the stairs, rubbing her eyes. Her blouse was creased and her blonde hair awry. In the half light, she looked barely older than some of the girls in Beth’s school.
‘Mum, what are you doing?’
Her mum pinched the bridge of her nose and frowned. ‘I must have fallen asleep.’
‘What, at half past six?’ As soon as she said it, she regretted it. She didn’t want to bring attention to the time. It didn’t look as though her mum had processed it, though.
‘I haven’t been sleeping too well recently,’ was all she said.
It was true she looked tired. Dark circles under her eyes. And she’d been acting weirdly recently – forgetting where she’d put things and not answering straight away if she was asked a question. Since yesterday, it had been as though her mind was somewhere else.
‘What’s happened to your tights?’
Beth shrugged. Surprised she’d even noticed. ‘I caught them on something.’
Even a week ago, her mum would have nagged her about looking after her clothes. Now she just drifted down the stairs and into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway as though wondering why she’d gone in there.
‘Mum, are you all right?’
‘Of course I am.’
Beth could see the effort it took to produce the smile her mum gave her. There were no questions about school and no mention of the fact that she was late home. Knowing she ought to be relieved, she was surprised to find she wasn’t. Something wasn’t right.
‘I’m going to my room. I’ve got some revision to do.’
Her mum ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Can’t you do it down here?’
‘No. I need the computer.’ Picking up her bag, Beth went up the stairs. As she climbed, her bag caught on one of the photographs on the wall. She straightened it and then sighed. It was like a rogue’s gallery up there. Some of the photographs were just of her, while others were of her and her mum or of the three of them together. The one she liked best was the picture of her standing on the slopes of Castle Crag, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun. They’d gone to the north-west of the Lakes for the day a few years ago, and the photograph had been taken while she’d been watching the falcons. She straightened the frame she’d knocked. Despite the smiling faces, the collection of photographs made her sad. Things had been different then. Easier, somehow. She could still remember that day. The way she and her mum had teased her dad about his sunburnt nose, giggling like silly schoolchildren when he stepped in a beck and got his walking boot full of water. It was a while since she’d seen her mum laugh like that. A while since they’d shared a joke of any kind.
When she got to her room, instead of switching on the overhead light, Beth turned on the small bedside lamp, then closed the door and the curtains. Her computer was on a desk un
der the window. She didn’t turn it on but, instead, felt in her pocket for her phone. The colourful icons shone brightly in the dim lighting and she stared at them for a moment. If she looked, she knew it would make her unhappy – yet she couldn’t help herself.
Pressing the green WhatsApp icon, she clicked onto the group Carina had made and scrolled down. She had altered the setting of her phone so that it wouldn’t alert her to new messages on the lock screen. Had that been a good idea? With relief, she saw there was nothing to worry about; the talk was all about homework and what everyone was revising. She breathed a sigh of relief and was about to close the app when another message appeared below the last.
She closed her eyes, unsure whether to read it or not. Some sixth sense made her think she shouldn’t. Her breathing had become shorter. What would she gain? But then curiosity got the better of her and she opened her eyes.
‘Who enjoyed Jessica Rabbit’s day off then? I certainly did.’
Beth folded her arms across her chest at the sight of the usual nickname, her eyes swimming. The comments began to appear straight away.
‘Stupid bitch… fat cow…’
She threw the phone across the room, not needing to read any more to know the answers the girls would give.
Three
Leona
‘Can you do me a bacon sarnie?’
Scott’s voice drifts through from the living room, which isn’t difficult as there’s only a few feet between it and the kitchen. I know he’d like us to move to somewhere bigger but, whenever he suggests it, I resist. It’s been Beth’s home for the last nine years and stability is important for her. Anyway, we’ve always loved it, or rather I have, as half the time I have no idea what Beth is thinking.
I look at the cramped space between the wooden units, the washing machine sticking out from beneath the Formica worktop. Just recently, since the episode in the shop, I’ve started to find the small rooms claustrophobic. Not just the rooms… the house and the village too.
‘You don’t want muesli then?’
Scott’s large head appears around the door frame. ‘Muesli? I’d be grateful if you’d kindly not swear.’ He picks up the box and puts it back into the cupboard. ‘You know the saying out of sight, out of mind…’
As he reaches around me to shut the cupboard door, his T-shirt rises up a little and I take the opportunity to pinch the soft flesh at his sides. ‘For someone who spends most of his time up mountains, you’re not exactly Bear Grylls. In fact, you look like you’ve just eaten him for breakfast.’
Resting his hands on the closed cupboard doors, either side of my face, he ducks his head and nuzzles my neck. The bulk of his body is comforting, his dark beard tickles.
‘Are you complaining, wife?’
‘Not at all. Why would I, when there’s more to cuddle up to at night?’ Reaching around him, I pull him closer, feeling the warmth of his body as it pushes against mine.
He laughs into my hair. ‘Steady on. We’ve a teenager in the house. I don’t think I can take any more of her “yuck, get a room” type of comments. Speaking of which, has she emerged at all this morning?’
‘I haven’t seen her yet, but you know what fifteen-year-olds are like. Their beds are their second homes.’
Scott plants a kiss on my lips, then pushes himself away. Walking over to the fridge, he pulls out a packet of bacon. ‘Want some?’
I shake my head, the thought of the fat dripping onto the grill pan making me nauseous. ‘No thanks. You’re the only carnivore in the house at breakfast time.’
‘Good job too. Somebody’s got to be strong enough to fight off the mountain lions. Talking of which, were you wrestling a few last night? When I woke up, there was no duvet on my side of the bed.’
I think of the restless night I’ve just had, waking at two and only falling back to sleep again when a sliver of light showed through the crack in the curtains. I know it’s connected to the incident in the village shop and am thankful that I don’t have a full-time job to hold down.
I haven’t told Scott what happened and it seems that Graham Hargreaves hasn’t either, as I’m sure he would have said something about it to me. And if he had, what could I have said? That I thought I’d seen the face of someone I despise? That, for just a few moments, I’d thought it was all happening again?
Every day since then, I’ve wracked my brains to think what might have caused me to react like that. For twelve years, I’ve managed to push Ria to the back of my mind, to try to forget her and, until now, I’ve succeeded. I know something must have triggered it. Something more than just a girl with long dark hair and a pushchair. I watch Scott pull the plastic wrapping off the packet of bacon. All this time, I’ve managed to pretend that I can live a normal life. That Ria hasn’t ruined it. She has though, and I have a horrid feeling she’s not going to let me forget it.
‘Well?’
Scott is looking at me expectantly and, for a moment, I can’t remember what he asked me. ‘Oh, sorry, no, I slept a bit better, actually.’
I’ve no intention of worrying him. If I tell him how I laid awake, watching the luminous digits of the clock slowly count down the hours, he’ll ask me questions I might not be able to answer.
‘You think she’s okay?’ Scott pulls a slice of bacon from the packet and drapes it across the rungs of the metal grid inside the grill pan.
‘Who?’ Instantly, my mind turns to Ria and my blood chills. Then I realise my stupidity – Scott doesn’t know Ria.
‘Beth, of course. She’s been awfully quiet this last week.’
I pour milk onto my muesli, feeling guilty that I haven’t noticed. ‘She’s got her exams in a couple of months. I expect they’re playing on her mind. I remember when I was doing my GCSEs, I wouldn’t speak to my mum, except in grunts.’
‘I thought it was boys who were supposed to do that.’
‘Well, I did too.’
The mention of my mum brings tears to my eyes, ones I have no control over. Scott’s face creases in concern. ‘Oh, babe. Don’t cry.’ He comes over to me and puts his big arm around my shoulders, hugging me to him. ‘You still miss her, don’t you?’
His sweatshirt is damp against my cheek. My tears have soaked into the material.
‘Every day.’
‘It must be hard to lose your parents so young, especially when you’re close to them. I wish I’d met them.’
It’s like a knife twisting in my heart. ‘I do too.’
Scott cups my face in his hands. ‘Are you okay?’
I nod, pulling a tissue from my sleeve and blowing my nose. ‘Look, your bacon’s burning.’
The bacon hisses and spits under the grill. Scott kisses my cheek, then goes over to it and turns each rasher over. Then he takes some bread out of its wrapper and starts to butter it.
‘You don’t think we made a mistake, do you?’ When I don’t answer, he carries on and I realise he’s talking about Beth again. ‘It might not have been the best idea sending her to Lady Edburton.’
I stare at him. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘I was just thinking the other day. She doesn’t seem to have many friends. Well, none she’s ever invited here anyway.’
‘She doesn’t need friends. She’s got us.’
‘What do you mean? Everybody needs friends. What an odd thing to say.’
‘I just mean that she’s not needy. She’s happy with her own company. Always has been. Anyway, she’s got Carina.’
By Scott’s expression, I can tell that he doesn’t necessarily think this is a good thing. Squeezing blood red ketchup onto the bread, he smears it with his knife before laying the bacon strips on top.
‘You don’t think she’s finding it too difficult – the work, I mean. I wonder if she’s struggling a bit.’
‘If she found the work difficult, she would never have passed the entrance exam… or got the art scholarship.’ His comment has hit a nerve. ‘She’s more than capable of doing Year 11 work.’
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‘I only meant that they push the kids in that school. It’s a lot harder than if she’d gone to Lakeside Comprehensive.’
‘That’s exactly why I wanted her to go, Scott. I don’t know why you’re bringing it up now; we talked about it at the time. You agreed that she would find it too easy there and that Lady Edburton would give her better opportunities.’
He looks at me. ‘It didn’t do me any harm going to the comprehensive. I just don’t like to think of her unhappy. Besides, everything costs such a lot at Lady E. How many school trips do they need to go on, for goodness sake?’
I feel my hackles rise. ‘I don’t know why you’re worried. It’s me who’s paying for these things with my jewellery sales. Are you saying you begrudge the money?’
‘Of course I’m not saying that.’
‘Then what are you saying, Scott?’
Before he can say anything else, Beth appears in the doorway. She’s wearing a pair of tartan pyjama bottoms and a grey hooded sweatshirt. She doesn’t speak to us but goes over to the fridge and takes out a carton of orange juice.
‘Okay, Beth?’
She doesn’t answer, just shrugs and pours the orange liquid into a glass.
‘Revising today?’ Scott leans his elbows on the table and takes a bite of his sandwich. ‘Did they give you a revision timetable?’
Beth’s face is pale; she hasn’t inherited my warm colouring. Two spots of colour appear on the apples of her cheeks. ‘No.’
‘That’s a surprise. Would have thought Sergeant Major Thompson would have had it planned out in military precision, hour by hour.’
‘Don’t call her that, Scott. Mrs Thompson runs the school very well. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, you can make your own, can’t you, Beth?’
The sound of the glass banging on the worktop makes me jump. ‘Why can’t you both just butt out of it!’
There’s no chance for us to react as she’s already gone, leaving behind the sound of her footsteps as she runs up the stairs and slams her bedroom door.